


Black Blood and White Knuckles

by OhLookMoreFanFiction



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke, Best Friends, Drama, F/M, One Shot, Romance, The 100 - Freeform, friends first, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhLookMoreFanFiction/pseuds/OhLookMoreFanFiction
Summary: Bellamy cares for Clarke after her time in the City of Light. Post Season 3 finale.





	

Octavia had disappeared around the corner. Bellamy bounded to Pike in two steps, his pulse weak and then gone under Bellamy's fingers.

There was a lull in the moans and cries of those, who just a moment ago, had been chipped and free of pain. Bellamy pushed Pike's eyelids down. He was so tired. Whatever Clarke meant... that the world wasn't saved just yet... it could wait. His throat stung from the choking and he hadn't slept in 48 hours.

But then he saw her. It was slow motion, even slower than Octavia slicing Pike had seemed. Clarke was falling from the throne. Bellamy leaped up, the crook of his arm catching her by the waist as she vomited pitch blackness onto the stone floor. He held her as she heaved, wheezing and sputtering in shock.

When finished, a careful hand braced her spine as he scooped her into his arms. She weighed nothing.

“I’m taking her to the commander’s chambers," he croaked hoarsely over his shoulder. No one really heard him.

If anyone had walked down the Polis tower hallway at that moment, they'd have seen a sore sight. Pounding down the corridor past overturned tables, the shell of a man clutched a crumpled woman. Her forehead stuck in the crevice between his neck and shoulder, clammy and feverish.

He kicked open the door. The latch clattered to the ground and crunched underfoot as he passed. Bellamy let her down gently onto the bed, taking special care to not jostle her.

She must be rejecting the night blood. Clarke's lips were beige and her normally pink cheeks had faded to ash. She was contorting into pained poses and clawing at her forearms, dragging them to her torso.

“I’m SO cold," she whimpered through gritted teeth. "I’m so cold, Bellamy, I’m freezing, please..." Tears squeezed out as she trailed off, thrashing on the bed.

He threw his gun belt down and ripped off his jacket. Knelt half on the floor and half on the mattress, he tucked it around her shoulders. His rough hands slid up and down her bare arms frantically, trying to generate heat.

"Does it hurt? Clarke, should I get Abby?" he asked through a tight jaw, looking her up and down while trying to still her clenched fists.

She took a large breath, filling her chest and stopping the sobs. In one large exhale, she whispered, “No, please don’t… don’t… it’s passing. My blood is warming up again," she tried to sound reassuring as she winced. "Just stay for right now, please, please, just stay, you don’t need to leave, look there's room, just…" he nodded several times to quiet her.

Clarke's pain had ebbed to exhaustion, and her eyes fluttered shut as she continued to mumble, begging him not to go. When she was finally breathing evenly, Bellamy carefully unlocked her tiny fingers from his wrists. He wiped small bits of blood from where her nails had punctured.

Bellamy sunk to the icy floor, leaning back on the nightstand while his temple fell to rest against the bed frame. As he slipped into the murky space between sleep and awake, he felt peace knowing that another chipped army couldn't tear him from this room.

Clarke had **lived**. He had **lived**. How and why and all the rest, he might never, ever know. But now they could find a way to **keep** on living, keep on breathing, keep on being... **together**.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr - @teambingewatch  
> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
